I wrote my first song when I was in 5th grade. Three chords pressed into painful fingers on a cheap 3/4 size guitar. D – Em – G. I suppose that is when I knew I would be a writer and musician, though I wouldn’t have had the confidence to name it. I had the love.

I listened to a single song on a record, over and over, trying to mimic the fingerpicking and chords. Pick up the needle, pop it back a little and play it again. Was that a minor chord? I remember when I first tackled my first barre chord. It was life changing to master an F chord.

And I wrote lyrics. Simple, Jesus songs. Some of them are still in my psyche. And though I do not express my faith in the same way as I did back then, they formed me and I celebrate the passion and joy of weaving together meaning in words on a page. Being an integrated person to me means all of what I have experienced and believed is still part of me.

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I had a music teacher in 5th grade; his name escapes me. But he was a small-ish man with sandy colored hair, and he donned a memorable bushy mustache. He admitted me into my first choir: “Triple Trio.” Three 1st sopranos, three 2nd sopranos, and 3 altos. Because girls were allowed to sing. I sang 2nd.

At the end of my 8th grade year, Mr. “Walrus” left for a different school. So I wrote a song for him to the tune of Bill Grogan’s goat (not a chicken but a goat). Let’s say I was still working on tunes. I sang it for some classmates and they were determined that we should sing it for his departure in front of the whole school. I was shy. Scared. Embarrassed. Anxious. And so Kathy lead a few braver girls in singing it. I am not even sure he knew that I wrote it. I have a distinct memory of that Jr. High event: a beloved music teacher receiving support, the song I wrote sung by others, me sitting on the bottom bleacher … in the background.

It was sad at the time. And it is sad to me now. It am still learning to let go of fear. I am now able to identify what I want and decide if it is worth facing the fear. And it nearly always is. Every step is difficult. What is it Vincent Van Gogh said in his letter to his nephew, Theo?

Does the road go uphill then all the way?
‘Yes to the very end’
And will the journey take all day long?
‘From morn till night, my friend.’

And so I write. Some people run. Some drink (I did that for a while). Some isolate. Some buy or have some other consumption tactic. It takes tenacity and the willingness to be uncomfortable to face ourselves. There is a sense of regular recidivism. So thank you, Vincent … it is uphill, yes to the very end. Here is a new song.

The Boat

What if the stories that we tell ourselves are just ways to throw an anchor
In a sea that’s always swirling round our heads
What if the fears that keep us up at night never come to pass
What if our failures are our teachers, not our nemesis
 
Chorus:
There is doubt in everything but we cannot live that way
There is fear & possibility on the surface of every wave
There is wonder in our hearts; and there are waters deep and dark
We sail that boat moving through those waves
 
The water can be rough out here – but the winds will subside
I can hear the eagle’s warnings in their protective cries
And the otter’s conversations are a sailor’s delights:
“Aren’t we  lucky, we can sleep beneath the stars tonight”
 
Bridge:
While the cosmos expands, we rehearse our tiny thoughts
They are just ponderings, feelings – no more
Are they truth or are they fable; or something to leave behind
To empty out what weighs us down or fling into the skies
 
In the captain’s log, I note the course that I am sailing
Where the reefs should be avoided; and the currents extra strong
I track the constellations, billions without names
Guiding and shining and shimmering just the same

 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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